Drinking
by HermioneGrangerTwin
Summary: "Saturdays are always the worst." A glimpse into Ron without Hermione. Companion to "Song For a Winter's Night." Post-DH. R/Hr.


Drinking

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A/N: A glimpse into Ron without Hermione. In the same universe as "Song For a Winter's Night." Quote from a Star Wars fanfic that stood out to me. Love the story as well. If you're a fan of Star Wars, check it out.

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_"Drinking to forget doesn't work. He knows this but he doesn't want to forget her, only himself." -Nataleia_

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He stumbled out of the grate, fire licking him inside and out. Firewhiskey had dulled the bitter cold of his stomach.

Saturdays are always the worst.

He wakes and is immediately cold, his side missing the heat of her small frame burrowed under his arm. The musty odor of upper Grimmauld Place is the next blow, as if his very heart was rotting and creating the stench. And all is eerily silent, his movements whispering to the room.

That's what he gets for taking up Harry's offer to move in after... He shakes his head, perpetually uncomfortable with the thought of that day.

He imagined that the two of them would mellow in the sitting room and discuss their respective days at the Auror office and the shop. Instead, Harry comes home and tells Ginny about what happened while they fix dinner together. When Ron comes home late, there's a plate waiting for him and his best friend has escaped upstairs with the woman who used to be his little sister.

Next on Saturday's schedule is lunch with his family. He has to get ready and dress nicely in order to spend an afternoon enduring his siblings with their various attachments. They sat around, making eyes at each other and talking about their emotional triumphs. That was how it felt to Ron, at least.

So, he promptly goes home and mopes until he loses all willpower and calls Seamus for drinks at the Leaky Cauldron or, if he's feeling particularly pathetic, the Hogs' Head.

This Saturday, lunch had been unendurable. This week, Hermione followed up on her invitation to Weasley lunch.

The awkwardness started when Ron managed to Apparate directly in front of Hermione at the Burrow, causing her to knock him over and end up straddling him on the grass. She scrambled up quickly and apologized fervently, but there was no way either one could recover their dignity from the tumble in the grass.

After he had gotten to his feet, they walked in together, neither realizing the implications of that action.

"Hermione, dear!" Molly Weasley had exclaimed as Ron held the door for her. "You've come!" She looked between Hermione and Ron, as if expecting them to hug or snog or fuck in her kitchen. "I thought—"

"Mum," he said, giving her a warning look and shaking his head slightly from behind Hermione.

"It's nice to see you," Molly said, smiling warmly at her.

Hermione was clearly uncomfortable despite her genuine smile, the clue tightness in her eyes. She continued on to the living room while Ron hung back and explained to his mother that they were not back together.

"But you came with each other! That's a good sign, isn't it?"

He sighed, wishing he could reassure her. "We managed to Apparate at the same time; it's wasn't planned."

"Oh." Her face fell and she looked sympathetically at him. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure if she was apologizing for the mistaken assumption or that it wasn't true. Either way, he accepted quickly, hugging her. "Hi, Mum."

She patted him on the back and kissed his cheek. "Lunch is ready. Go ahead and corral everyone to the dining room."

He nodded and entered the living room, where everyone immediately fell silent. He ignored the obvious reason for that and said, "Food's done. Get to the table."

"Well, I never," George said, affecting an offended tone. "To think my own brother is so uncouth."

Ron chose not to reply, instead gesturing to the dining room. Everyone began talking again and left.

Harry came to his side, looking at him carefully. "What's wrong with you?"

"Your kindness and concern are overwhelming."

"Shut up," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "I suppose Hermione is the reason you look like you might vomit or scream."

Ron took a deep breath. "Most definitely."

Harry winced and nodded as he led the way to the dining room. "I understand." Ron followed him and took his seat between him and Charlie.

Charlie grinned at Ron. "Hey, Ron."

"Hey."

He leaned in towards Ron. "I heard a rumor that your ex-girlfriend is here."

Charlie was normally the saving grace of Saturday lunch, the other single man in a sea of couples, and the tone with which Charlie asked this question made it clear why. "She's here."

He patted Ron on the back. "Where is she?" he asked quietly.

"No clue," Ron answered shortly. "She'll be in here soon."

The food made its way around the table before Hermione and Ginny showed up. Ginny sat across from Harry, leaving the seat across from Ron the only one open for Hermione.

There was no way to avoid the awkwardness. Ron spent all of lunch worried that he would meet Hermione's eyes and her eyes would be hollow. But she spent most of the lunch speaking to Fleur in rapid French while Charlie updated Ron on the latest at the compound. In the end, it was more awkward that way; pointedly ignoring Hermione was not in his skill set, and he found himself watching her in his periphery. And what was worse, more painful, was that she looked _happy_, delighted by speaking to Fleur in a way that he hadn't seen in a long time. She even laughed with George at a retelling of a prank, her hair shimmering in the light. He expected her to be as miserable as he was, waking in terror in the middle of the night to find him not by her side. He pined for her constantly, and he had assumed she would be doing the same. He didn't know how he would cope with knowing she was happier without him.

As soon as she was finished with her pudding—Harry's favorite, treacle tart—, she excused herself to the bathroom. He watched her leave the room and listened for her footsteps to the upstairs bathroom. She not only went up the one flight of stairs, but then the next two. Ron surreptitiously looked around the table.

If anyone else had noticed, they didn't let on.

"Oh! I need to go up to my room before I forget, and collect my Transfiguration book to study for that portion of the Auror exam." He stood from the table, tart half destroyed on his plate and started to leave the room.

Harry looked at him in confusion. "Your exam isn't until—"

Ron gave him a look as his Mum said, "It never hurts to get started early."

Ron nodded, acting the very picture of dedicated studier. "I'll be back."

He went up the stairs to the bathroom and stood in the corridor half a minute before he heard it: the muffled sound of Hermione crying. He felt like a voyeur standing there, listening to her sobs. It was something private, something she was trying to hide, especially from him. He had such regret for his thoughts mere minutes ago: it was immensely worse to know she was broken too. He crept from the door and went up to his room, thinking he might as well find the book he set out for, and found his room tidy, as his Mum had insisted before he moved out, with the exception of an open drawer. When he came closer to the drawer, he found his jumpers in disarray. Surely, she hadn't... He set a Disillusionment Charm on himself and stood in the corner behind his bed, watching the door.

Hermione came in little more than a minute later, wiping her eyes and sniffing loudly, a jumper cradled in her arms. She tidied the jumpers she must've disturbed and took a deep draw of breath with her nose close to the fabric. She began to softly sob again, casting a Muffling charm on the door and sitting on the end of his bed. With the jumper held against her chest, she effectively trapped him in his corner as she cried. He could only watch as she clutched the jumper close.

Ginny came up a couple minutes later, and she grimaced as she knocked on the door frame. Hermione jumped ten feet in the air. "Ginny! I, er," she got up and began to fold the jumper, "I was just—"

"Hermione. Don't explain. I understand."

Her face crumpled. "I can't do this."

"Why not? I've cried my share over Harry's things—"

"No. I mean, I can't come to Weasley lunch. I can't see Ron so, so...well-adjusted without me."

"He's not," Ginny assured her, quelling Ron's desire to say the same. "He's just as sad as you are."

Hermione looked at her derisively. "I saw the way he talked to Charlie. He's perfectly fine."

Ron was stunned that he had come off that way. "I saw the way _you_ talked to Fleur," Ginny replied. "You seemed perfectly fine, too."

She looked at Ginny, tear tracks shining in the light from the window. "I did?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "The two of you have got to stop this game you play. You have to come together and talk about what went wrong instead of running away."

Hermione sat up, straightening her shoulders indignantly. "He's the one that keeps leaving! I don't—"

"Hermione, he wouldn't leave if you didn't withdraw first."

Ron cheered silently; knowing he had an ambassador for his cause in Ginny had made him infinitely happy. But Hermione shook her head.

"No. I can't—we can't keep coming together only to break again. I can't continue arguing my case."

"Hermi—"

"Don't try to change my mind. I can't. I won't."

Ron's heart sunk through the floor as Hermione primly folded his jumper and placed it in the drawer, wiping her eyes and standing up tall. He watched her walk away, watched her move on, and that was the worst of all.

That's how he ended up drinking alone that evening. He left the Burrow without bothering to say goodbye and went straight to a pub. He started at the Leaky, starting with Muggle beers before moving onto straight shots of Firewhiskey until the bartender decided he'd had enough. Hannah always knew when to send Ron on his way and tonight, she let him go a bit farther than usual, his melancholy obliging him to more alcohol.

Then, he took a Floo home before taking another Floo to the Hogs' Head. He wouldn't Apparate drunk; he wanted to die, not be mutilated and still living without her. Aberforth let him self-medicate, believing the war hero had restraint enough to stop. It was when he began sobbing over his drink that the other Dumbledore—as Ron had began addressing him in his head—sent him home.

Ron stumbled out of the grate, falling face-first into his bed at Grimmauld Place, tears soaking his pillow. He knew he couldn't forget her, wouldn't want to forget the siren from his childhood; it was himself he wanted to do away with, the boy who ran away.

And as he resigned himself to the lack of Hermione by his side, he decided:

Saturday was the worst day of the week to be without her.


End file.
